


No Regrets

by anniemoon



Series: Untitled Ted/Michael series [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-06-04
Updated: 2001-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniemoon/pseuds/anniemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written shortly after the S1 finale.</p>
    </blockquote>





	No Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Written shortly after the S1 finale.

He stirs at the first knock, hearing it, but distantly, distorted as if it's part of a dream not fully formed. He grumbles, rolls over. It's the second knock that rouses him, a furtive tap-tap-tapping that is as polite as a knock on the door in the middle of the night can be.

Ted wants to ignore it, wants to burrow under the covers and return to sleep, but it could be an emergency. He's too conscientious to pretend he doesn't hear it. He slips carefully out of bed and pads to the door, running his fingers through his tousled hair. He pulls the door open, equally prepared to be annoyed or concerned.

What he's not prepared for is shock.

"Blake," is all he can utter, a strangled wheeze choked out as his breath catches in his throat.

He never thought he'd see him again, certainly never thought Blake would come to his door at - he glances at the clock - four in the morning nearly two years after he checked him into the clinic. He figured, in that cold, vindictive side that he kept mostly buried, that he might see Blake hustling on the streets, perhaps called in to identify him in the morgue. But not this.

Not this uncomfortable, slightly abashed, yet clear-eyed and sober man standing in his doorway.

Blake doesn't smile, doesn't beg to come in. He simply waits for Ted to process the surprise of his reappearance, to come to a decision about what to do.

Ted does. He wants to shut the door in Blake's face. He wants to go back to bed, where he belongs, and wake the next morning telling himself it was all just a dream, borne of too many Sam Adams' the night before.

Instead, he steps aside and says, "Come in."

Blake passes by him with a nod of thanks and stands in the middle of the living room. He clears his throat. "I know--" his voice cracks and he tries again. "I know my showing up here is a surprise, especially this late. You have every right to tell me you hate me and kick me out." He stops, possibly waiting for Ted to reassure him that no, he doesn't hate Blake at all. When Ted says nothing, he goes on, his voice still halting and unsure. "I just...I needed to see you. I was trying to sleep, I've been trying to sleep for weeks, and all I can do is think about you. I couldn't...I had to come here." He trails off weakly and looks at the floor.

Ted sits on the couch and studies Blake, shock wearing off and being replaced by curiosity. Blake looks older, looks like he's faced horrors Ted can only imagine. He's thinner, too, and his skin is so pale it's almost translucent. But even for all of that, he looks healthy. He looks clean. "How long?" Ted asks bluntly.

Blake knows what he's asking. "One year, five months, sixteen days," he responds. He pulls a chip out of his pocket and hands it to Ted. Tad takes it but doesn't really look at it. He passes it from one hand to the other, back and forth. The rhythm is soothing.

"I'm proud of you," Ted says. He's surprised to realize he means it. It was easy to hate Blake, to wish horrible things on him, when he didn't have to see him. Now that he's here, Ted feels allowed to let in less destructive emotions. Still, the anger and pain is present, a bleak shadow lying just under the surface. He lets a little bit of it loose. "But what were you doing in the six months between when I last saw you and your triumphant return to sobriety?"

Blake flinches but he doesn't refuse to answer. "Trying to kill myself," he says flatly. Ted has to admire him for not, even unconsciously, asking for any pity. There are many things familiar about this Blake - the disarming shyness, the haunted look in his blue eyes - but there is a lack of neediness, a strength there that's wholly new.

"I'm proud of you," Ted repeats, then backtracks with a stammer. "I-I mean, n-not for trying to kill yourself. I'm proud of you for not succeeding." He inwardly curses himself for not being able to stay detached around Blake. It's too easy to fall back into the same pattern, fawning over Blake's beauty and charm while ignoring his flaws. He clenches his fists and the cold edge of the sobriety chip brings him under control.

Blake smiles gently. "Thank you," he replies. He sits down next to Ted on the sofa, but not too close, perhaps sensing Ted's discomfort. "I came here to tell you that I'm sorry."

Ted nods in understanding. "I see. This is one of those steps, right? Apologize to everyone you've hurt when you were using."

"Yeah," Blake says. He gazes steadily at Ted, refusing to look away no matter how awkward this is for him. "I know I should've come sooner. I should've come at a better time. Facing my family was hard. Facing my friends was hard. But this," he continues with a deep breath, "facing you, is the hardest thing I've had to do since I detoxed. You were a part of my life for such a short time but you had more impact on me than you will ever know."

"Not enough," Ted bitterly points out. "I couldn't help you get clean."

"No, you couldn't," Blake agrees. "Only I could do that. You did everything you could for me, but I had to want to get sober. It was my responsibility, my choice."

"Ah, the whole 'it's not you, it's me' argument," Ted says wryly.

Blake nods. "Exactly. But you did one thing for me that nobody else in my life ever has. You believed in me. I failed you in that belief, but it kept me going through some very dark and cold nights. And when I was finally tired of sleeping in alleys, tired of doing anything for cash just so I could get high, it was your belief in me that helped me through the worst of the detox. You saved my life, even if it took me six months to realize it."

"Oh," Ted breathes, stunned by this confession. Still, he's not ready to give up his hurt. "Why didn't you come find me back then?" he asks.

"Because I had already failed you, not once, but twice," Blake replies. "I was afraid that I would do it again, and then you would stop believing in me."

"I have never stopped believing in you," Ted confesses, and he knows it to be as true as his pride in Blake's sobriety. "I never would have," he adds with conviction.

"Thank you." Blake's eyes shine with unshed tears. "I think I really needed to hear that. Anyway, that's the main reason I came here to see you, to tell you how sorry I am for what I did to you and to thank you for what you did for me."

Ted isn't sure what to say, doesn't know what the proper protocol is for something like this. "Uh, you're welcome. And apology accepted," he blurts, then blushes at how lame it sounds. He cocks his head and looks at Blake. "You said 'main reason.' Was there more?" he wonders.

"Yeah, there is," Blake says in an almost-whisper, as he glances away shyly and then returns his gaze to Ted. "I wanted to say...well, that is...I miss you."

Ted is nonplussed by this revelation. "You...what?"

"I miss you," Blake repeats with more confidence in his voice. "I know you don't have any reason to trust me or to even like me anymore, but I wanted you to know that I still think about you. I have every day since the last time I saw you. I think about us. I still love you, Ted."

Ted studies Blake as carefully as he did when he first arrived. He sees a young man who is clearly nervous and unsure of Ted's response to his declaration. But he also sees someone who has lost that kicked-puppy look, that startling lack of self-esteem that allowed him to be so easily sucked into self-destruction. The Blake he sees still has doubts and fears, but he also possesses a confidence and tranquility that wasn't there in the past. This Blake he sees is very appealing and he knows he could love him deeply.

Ted takes a deep breath and lets it out, releasing the last of his anger and hurt. "A part of me will always love you, Blake," he gently says, "but I've moved on. I think we both should."

"I understand," Blake replies softly, and Ted believes he really does understand. "I had to try, though." He stands and squares his shoulders. "I should let you get back to bed. I would say I'm sorry for coming here in the middle of the night, but I'm not. I needed this."

"I think," Ted muses, "that I did, too." He steps forward and hugs Blake fiercely, holding tightly to the smaller man for a long moment. "Be happy," he whispers into Blake's hair, then pulls back and kisses him on the forehead.

"Same to you," Blake murmurs in response.

Ted smiles. "I am."

Blake lets go, turns, and walks out the door without looking back. Ted stands there for a long time until he notices he still has Blake's sobriety chip clenched in his hand. He locks the front door and goes to his bedroom, where he puts the chip on the nightstand and climbs under the warm covers. He lays there staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.

Michael rolls over and drapes an arm across him. "You okay?" he asks, and Ted almost weeps at the concern in his lover's voice.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he replies huskily. He scoots closer to Michael and turns his head. In the dim light from the streetlamp outside he can see Michael's brown eyes watching him, giving him the chance to decide if he wants to talk. He decides it can wait until morning. He kisses Michael, a slow, sweet kiss that reminds him of everything he has.

He drifts off to sleep, at peace.


End file.
